I was an extremely happy lab rat—I loved being at the bench.  I would stay awake at night thinking of the questions that most interested me and dreaming up experiments that would address them.  I had a good publication record and landed a post-doc in a top laboratory that I hoped would help me launch a successful academic career.   In the summer of my fourth year as a post-doc, I presented my research at an international meeting.  I was delighted when scientists at other universities expressed interest in my work—a few even approached me to see whether I’d be going on the job market soon.  They knew of positions that were opening up, and suggested I consider giving job talks in the fall.  I flew back home eager to talk things over with my advisor.  I was confident I could write things up in short order and head out to start my own lab. 

Our meeting did not go according to plan.  While he agreed that my work was interesting and I’d made a good start, he envisioned me staying in the lab for another 3-5 years.  THREE TO FIVE MORE YEARS!!! I had always dreamed of an academic career, but I never expected that realizing that dream would involve working as a post-doc for seven to nine years.  I calculated all the time I had spent in school.  From kindergarten to post-doctoral fellow, I figured I had spent the better part of the last twenty-eight years being educated.  After all that schooling, I was still living in a rented apartment and driving an old clunker that shook like a tin can any time it went over 25 miles per hour.  I was tired of trying to make ends meet on my post-doctoral stipend.  I wanted a grown-up salary that would allow me to buy a house and get a car that was not made up of parts salvaged from the local junk yard and the remnants of past clunkers.

I dropped by the local book store and scoured the shelves of self-help books.  I was looking for one that would tell me what to do next.  I carried home my purchases in a brown paper bag, and took them out to read only in the privacy of my bedroom.  The books were full of lists, lists of questions about my interests, lists of suggestions for finding a job that would bring me happiness, and lists with little boxes that could be checked off to show that I was making progress.  I skimmed the first chapter of the first book, glanced at the list entitled “Networking,” and shoved the pile of books under my bed.  The next day I drew up my own list, it included the names of folks who had strayed from the academic path that I was on.  Some of the names belonged to friends.  Others were people I had never met, but they were friends or acquaintances of people I knew. 

I called each of the former academics on my list and asked if they’d be willing to speak with me.  I met some of them for coffee and chatted with others over the phone.  I asked a lot of questions.  Why had they left academics?  What were they doing now?  Were they happy?  I was surprised at how helpful each of them was and how willing they were to share their experiences.  I had never considered a life outside of science.  Suddenly, the world was full of opportunities that I never knew existed.  Some of the people I spoke with had loathed science.  They had chosen an “alternate career” that would allow them to escape the bench.  Such jobs were clearly not for me.  I loved science, and I wanted a job that would allow me to use the scientific education I had spent so many years acquiring.  As a post-doc I enjoyed a great deal of freedom.  I knew I needed a job that would provide a great deal of autonomy.  I also wanted a position that would engage my analytical skills, creativity, and love of problem-solving. 

One old friend was working as a patent attorney.  As we discussed his work, I felt a surge of interest.  A few days later, one of the partners at his firm gave me a call and suggested I come in for an interview.  A job offer followed shortly after my interview.  Deciding to accept that offer was the most difficult decision I have ever made.  Taking a job in intellectual property meant giving up my academic dreams—I would never have my own laboratory or work at the bench.  I turned the possibilities over in my mind.  Many of my friends were already working as assistant professors.  I knew how stressful that could be.  Most of them were so busy writing grants, few had any time for bench work.  No matter what choice I made, I knew that my days as a lab rat were coming to an end.  I signed the offer letter, cleaned out my bench, and headed to the mall to figure out what “business casual” involved.